


wash away all the things you've taken

by yuuya



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! ARC-V
Genre: Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 06:40:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7564102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuuya/pseuds/yuuya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(he will come to you when the pain breaks and swells, will hold your cheeks in soft hands and kiss you with lips that mirror your own; and you, you who have never been touched like this, held like this, will be torn apart more than pain alone could ever have managed)</p>
            </blockquote>





	wash away all the things you've taken

**Author's Note:**

> this is terrible wow uh
> 
> i am so sorry for the evils these hands of mine have wrought

They take you, and take _you_ , make someone, some _thing_ \--

There's pain, burning and cold; the wetness of dripping blood and the dryness of eyes that can't cry anymore, not after so much pain, not when it goes _on and on and on_ and never stops. There's pain, that strips away _you_ because _you_ are only secondary to _it_ , to the body you pilot and the power it can wield.

(he will come to you when the pain breaks and swells, will hold your cheeks in soft hands and kiss you with lips that mirror your own; and you, you who have never been touched like this, held like this, will be torn apart more than pain alone could ever have managed)

***

There's more pain, before it ends. _To be certain_ , they say, because they've lost men before - this you know, this you've had a hand in. You've taken theirs and so they take _you_ , and perhaps there's some revenge to it, too. They're only human, after all.

There's more pain, but more of him, too; he comes every day now, you think, though days and nights and time escaped you many sessions ago. They run you hot and cold with pain and tears and dripping blood, he runs you hot and cold with softness and kisses and rushing blood, and if anyone were to you couldn't say which strips away more of who you used to be.

( _I_ _love you_ , you'll say to him once, without thinking, and his lips will curve and his fingers will curl and both will be cruel and both will hurt but, for a moment, you think, he'll be hurting too)

( _silly_ , he'll say, and kiss away the tears on your cheeks, and sigh, _monsters are for hurting, not for loving_ )

***

The first time they let you free, it's only around the island. Shaky, tottering steps and eyes fluttering against the sun, and if he weren't there at your arm you don't think you'd even manage to get out of the room.

(they take you from your room when they hurt you; your room is where he comes to you; inside is safety and outside is _pain_ )

He loops his arm through yours and holds you up, pulls you around the island as though it's normal, as though you're just any person being shown around the place, and not-- not _who you are_ (who you were). Or, no, not anyone. He wouldn't lead just _anyone_ around like this, wouldn't introduce just _anyone_ to everyone he deems worthy of acknowledging like he's showing off a favored new pet - that's yours and yours alone. Along with the way he sits you down under a tree and strokes your cheeks with his thumbs when you get too tired to take another step; the way he kisses your forehead and smiles, secretive and indulgent, before leaving you alone a moment to accost a promptly terrified-looking Red girl on the path.

You understand when the Red runs off and reappears a few minutes later with a bowl, and is immediately shooed off so that he can come back to your side. It's ice-cream, one spoon, and he hums _don't tell_ in your ear and shares it without ever letting you use the the spoon yourself. He feeds you and coos over you and strokes your face, your hair, your ears, your neck with hands chilled by the bowl, and it's so _simple_ and _nice_ and _painless_ that you end up sobbing into his chest until you exhaust yourself and fall asleep there under the tree with him.

(you'll throw up when you wake, the ice-cream too rich for your half-starved body, and he'll stand behind you with his nose wrinkled but stroke your hair and your back and coo over you more anyway)

( _he did it on purpose_ , some part of you will say, over and over and desperate, but that's a part of who you _were_ , not who you _are_ , and who you _are_ doesn't care, won't care, can't care even if he did)

***

There are more times free around the island before they let you off of it. You don't know how long it's been; how long you've been here, how long you've been _what you are_ , how long you've spent with or without his hand in yours and his voice ringing in your ears.

Time is something for normal people, and you're not sure if you're even a _person_ anymore.

He's with you, the way he always is, all flashing teeth and bell-like laughter as he rips and breaks and _hurts_ \- but not you, never _you_ \- and you stand watchful at his side, _witness_ him in his natural place. The predator, on the hunt, and when he turns back to you with his quarry fallen before him and his eyes blazing with fire the _bloodlessness_ of this kind of hunt seems wrong; he ought to be marked, ought to have a bloody mouth and bloody fingers that he can press to your face until you're marked too, _predator in the making_.

(he'll take you there in the ruined city with a hunger you've never seen in him before, all breathless laughter and too-bright eyes and the scrape of cracked concrete on your skin, and you'll wonder how it must sound to any survivors still hiding out in the nooks and crannies of this broken city)

( _a warning, a warning_ , your bones will sing, _a warning that we're coming for you_ )

***

After that first day you're sent out again, again, always with him at your side and always him the hunter, you the watcher; watching, waiting, because there's a time for you but it isn't _yet_. You don't know when your time will be, but you know you'll know it when it comes. You find yourself _looking_ for it; for some _one_ or some _ones_ , for _your_ quarry, for your _time_. For what it will take for your duel disk to be more than an unused weight on your arm.

You're disappointed every time. They're not _there_ , it's not _time_ , and the longer it goes on the more you start to understand the hunger in him firsthand.

( _you'll be_ **_beautiful_** , he'll hum into your skin in the shade of a half-demolished building; he'll trace patterns over your skin where you're tight with hunger and _wanting_ )

(you'll come apart beneath him but it won't be _enough_ , not enough to feed the hunger burning in your bones that says you're _ready_ , you're ready to break and scatter and _hurt_ the way he does; a perfect mirror made in the image of a monster)

***

When the time finally comes it's enough to take you by surprise. The two of you round a corner and you see a red scarf, which is nothing new, but then you see dark hair and yellow eyes and _oh_ , you _recognize_ this one, and that-- that means that it's _time_.

There's another part besides the predator that recognizes this one, too, and it's like a scream inside you, _not him, not him,_ **_not him_** because you _love_ him, he's _everything_ , but--

But it's not _you_ who loves this prey, not even the person you _used_ to be, and _his_ voice ringing in your ears is a lot more persuasive than this voice in your head could ever hope to be - and _oh_ , that voice _does_ hope, hopes and begs and pleads _not him, anyone but him_ , but it's not

enough.

This is what they trained you for, this is what they made you for, _this is what you'll do_.

(you'll hold the card later with something inside of you _broken_ , _empty_ , and his lips on your skin won't be enough to entirely fill the ragged emptiness you've torn into yourself with this act, the way you might as well have claimed two souls at once by taking this one in particular)

(you'll hold the card later and _doubt_ for the first time in all the time you've been here, shiver and shake and _want_ for something that's gone out of your reach entirely now)

(but for now--)

You activate your duel disk, his deck slipped into it because yours was taken from you the moment this all started, and begin your first hunt.


End file.
